


Emoticons Are My Only Prose

by v_nikiforov



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, M/M, Rating May Change, for the minute it's just cute domesticity, tags will be updated as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 08:28:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9170857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_nikiforov/pseuds/v_nikiforov
Summary: It’s the first time Viktor has fallen on the ice in years. He stares at his hands, not quite sure what to do. All the other skaters have fallen silent and are staring at him, waiting for him to do something. It’s Yakov who finally breaks the silence.. . .Yuuri moves in with Viktor, multichapter hijinks ensue.





	

It’s the first time Viktor has fallen on the ice in years. He stares at his hands, not quite sure what to do. All the other skaters have fallen silent and are staring at him, waiting for him to do something. It’s Yakov who finally breaks the silence. “What do you call that Vitya?” Viktor turns his head towards his coach and stands up, he skates towards him and grips the side of the rink.

“It was an attempt at a quad lutz, I think.” Viktor says nonchalantly and takes the water bottle Yakov offers him. Yakov narrows his eyes.

“A quad lutz?” Viktor nods, taking a sip. “You botched a quad lutz?” Yakov stares down the skater before glancing around and barking for everyone to get back to work. “What is Vitya? You’re off today. You stepped out of a quad loop, fell on a quad lutz and you’re sloppy in your spins.” Yakov’s voice was not soft or tender, but it wasn’t his usual harsh bark either. “You’re distracted, I haven’t seen you skate this badly since you were a teenager.”

“Nothing is wrong Yakov,” Viktor says with a laugh in his voice, “I fell, skaters fall all the time; don’t worry so much.” He hands his water back to the older man and prepares to push away and rejoin the other skaters. Yakov reaches out his hand and grabs Viktor’s shoulder, keeping him in place. “Yakov,” Viktor whines, his mouth slipping into a pout, “it was just a fall.”

“Vitya, with you, it’s never just a fall, I want you to go home.”

“Yak-“

“I don’t want you to come back to training until you’re ready to focus.” Viktor recognises the tone of Yakov’s voice and instantly knows it’s better not to argue with him. He lets out a sigh and pulls away from his coach. “Vitya, what are you doing, I said get off the ice!” Yakov raises his voice as Viktor gathers speed as he skates across the rink. Everyone is staring at the skater now, ignoring Yakov’s instructions. Viktor smiles as he picks up speed and launches himself in the air.

Jumps have always been Viktor’s favourite part of skating. He loves the feeling of the gathering speed, the anticipation of the jump, the feeling of his body soaring as he pushes of the ice. He even loves the impact when his skate reconnects with the ice. He loves the accompanying roar of the crowd when he lands. This time there is no roar as he lands elegantly, leg outstretched behind in a graceful arabesque . He skates another loop of the rink before coming to a stop beside Yakov. Yakov is never amused by Viktor’s antics, and Viktor knows this, it’s why he chose him as coach. “Viktor,” He knows it’s bad when Yakov stops using his pet name. “Get off the rink and go home, I don’t want you back here until you’re willing to focus.”

Viktor exaggerates a pout as he steps off the rinks and slips his guards on. It’s not the first time Yakov has sent him home for not focusing, it was normally a monthly occurrence. Viktor would misbehave and Yakov would call him a child, bemoan loudly about an imminent heart attack and ban Viktor from training at the same time as whomever Viktor had been mischievous with. Viktor drops down dramatically on a bench in the locker room and starts untying his laces. He shoves his skates in his bag, and pulls his coat on. He is looking forward to his half day now; he can take Makkachin on a run, listen to some of the songs he’s considering for his short program, practice making katsudon for Yuuri. Viktor is lost in thought as he shrugs his coat on, his reverie is interrupted by the locker room door being kicked in. Viktor doesn’t see who it is, but he can tell by the entrance. “Yura!” Victor calls out in greeting, turning to smile at the younger skater. Yuri enters the locker room and leans against the wall, eyes narrowed.

“What,” Yuri mutters, “the fuck was that?”.

Viktor’s eyes widen, he is slightly less pleased to see Yuri then he was seconds ago. He forces a bright smile towards Yuri. “I over rotated on a quad, it happens, even to me.”

“Yakov is right, you’re distracted and it’s disgusting.” Yuri scuffed the toe of his shoe off the floor, glaring intently at it. “He doesn’t know why, but I do.”

“There is no reason for it, I’m not a super human, I’m bound to mess up a jump once in awhile and i’m always a bit sloppy with my quad lutz, you know I broke my ankle-“

‘You’re nervous.” Yuri cuts across Viktor as he babbles. Viktor stops talking at that. “You’re nervous because the Japanese Yuuri’s flight is tonight. I would say you flubbed you’re jumps on purpose to get a half day, but I don’t think you’re smart enough for that.” Viktor laughs at that. “Don’t laugh at me! I’m right just admit it! You’re nervous about the pig seeing you after a month because you’re a man child and probably haven’t hoovered or done laundry since you arrived home.” Viktor smiles brightly and stands up from the bench.

“Yura, you certainly have an imagination, I won’t be training tomorrow so i’ll see you on Wednesday then.” Viktor brushes past Yuri, only once he sufficiently distances himself from Yuri, he let’s the smile fall from his face. He thinks back on what Yuri said, he hasn’t felt nervous in years, maybe it is what he is feeling; why he couldn’t land his quads properly, why he couldn’t focus on one spot while spinning, why his step sequences were as sloppy as they were when he was fourteen. Viktor pushes the thoughts to the back of his head. There is no point in dwelling on them when Yuuri would be with him in less then eight hours. The thought of seeing Yuuri again after their month apart lifts Viktor’s mood considerably. He takes out his phone and opens the most recent message from Yuuri.

**From: Katsuki Yuuri**   
**To: Viktor**

**Will be arriving at 8pm. My things should arrive at some point today, I hope they don’t inconvenience you too much. Can’t wait to see you tonight.**

Viktor feels like his heart is bursting out of his chest. He quickly types out a message full of exclamation marks and love hearts and grandiose professions of undying love and devotion, and clicks send.

He smiles as he walks out of the rink.

* * *

 

Although it’s cold enough for his death to be forming little clouds over his scarf, Viktor makes the executive decision to walk the long way home. His hands are deep in his pockets as he meanders his way home. By the time he reaches the pier, snow is falling softly and he’s listened to his free program song at least ten times. It’s a pining song, sung by a gentle soprano. He can already see the choreography in his head, formless but there. He already knows the story he will be telling with his skating. It’s the story he has been living for the past month; in love, deliriously happy, but separated from his love, save for a few texts a week. He briefly wonders what Yuuri will think of the program and the music. He hopes Yuuri won’t be embarassed by such a public declaration of his feelings. Viktor considers arranging his practice times to be completely separate from Yuuri’s to keep it secret. He decides to sort it out later as he reaches his apartment block.

“Mr Nikiforov!” Viktor turns around and sees his doorman waving him over, he flashes a smile and approaches the man. “Sorry to bother you Mr Nikiforov, but you had a rather large delivery today, I signed for it, I hope that’s alright, I didn’t want you to have to go to the post office to get it tomorrow.” Viktor could have kissed the older man right then and there.

“Thank you Mr Ilyinski! Thank you so much! You’ve just saved my life!” Viktor exclaims as Ilyinski leads him to the back room behind the security desk. There are six medium sized boxes, taped up well, with labels written neatly in Japanese on them. It takes Viktor five trips to get all the boxes to his door on the second floor. He is out of breath by the time he gets the last box to his door. He can hear Makkachin scratching at the door as he fiddles with his keys. The door is pushed open by Makkachin as he bounds to Viktor. Viktor kneels down and throws his arms around Makkachin. “Makka! Did you miss me today? It sure seems like it! Come on, let’s get Yuuri’s boxes in!” Viktor, with minimal help from Makkachin, manages to get all the boxes inside.

He beams as he surveys his work. The smile drops from his face as he gazes around his apartment. Unlike what Yuri seems to suspect, Viktor’s apartment is clean, very clean, too clean. It looks the exact same as the day Viktor moved in. It is cold and clinical, Viktor thinks, and a far cry from Yuuri’s home in Hatsetsu. Truthfully, Viktor had come to think of Hatsetsu as home while he had stayed there, and coming back to his apartment in St Petersburg had been more than a let down. Most days he spends as much time away from his cold apartment as possible. He has no photos or personal affects on the walls at all. His medals and trophies are stashed in a box at the back of his wardrobe. Viktor glances around once again and glances at the time on his phone, his apartment has never looked lived in and there is nothing he can do about that in the six hours he has until he has to collect Yuuri at the airport.

Viktor migrates into the kitchen and opens all of his cupboards. He had been hoping to cook for Yuuri tonight, make it romantic, with Yuuri’s favourite dishes and candles and rose petals. Looking at his cupboards again, the logical side of Viktor concedes that that plan would have to be cancelled. A talented cook he is not and his kitchen shows it. The pans hanging on the wall have never been used, the cupboards are empty of all food aside from cereal and condiments, the fridge is stuffed full of leftover take away meals. Dinner out it is, thinks Viktor, he will not burn down his apartment trying to impress Yuuri and embarrass himself instead.

Viktor wanders back into the living room, where Makkachin is pawing Yuuri’s boxes. Viktor finds it remarkable that Yuuri has managed to condense his life into only six boxes. An idea then flicks across Viktor’s mind. He will unpack Yuuri’s belongings. He can put it all away and then when Yuuri arrives he can spend time with him instead of folding his clothes and putting pictures up. Viktor runs into the kitchen and rummages around six draws and returns to the living room clutching a box opener triumphantly. He plucks the lightest box from the pile, the label is in Japanese but he can guess from the weight that it is probably clothes. Viktor gives himself a mental pat on the back when he discovers his assumption is right. Carrying the now open box into his - their - bedroom, he feels a thrill run up his spine when he thinks that it is their room, he clears a draw for Yuuri’s clothes. He wishes he had enough time to look at each individual item, wonders how many he recognises. He places t-shirts, and jeans and underwear and socks into the drawers. Pushes his clothes aside in the closet and hangs up Yuuri’s shirts and suits up. At the bottom of the box Viktor sees It. A sense of rage fills him as he glares at It. It being the god awful pastel blue tie that Yuuri insisted on keeping. Viktor wonders if It can feel his pure rage, wonders if It knows It’s a crime against fashion, wonders if Yuuri put It their deliberately to wind Viktor up. Viktor snatches It and buries It in the bottom of his bedside dresser drawer where It can be forgotten for forever. Yuuri can just borrow one of his own ties for the next formal event they have to go to. Viktor can feel butterflies pool in his stomach thinking of Yuuri wearing his tie, thinking of them going to a formal event together, thinking of introducing Yuuri as his fiancé.

Viktor manages to drag himself out of his reverie and opens the next three boxes, all of which are filled with clothes. It isn’t until he hits the fifth box that he finds something interesting. The fifth box is filled with pictures. On the top is a picture of Yuuri and his family, presumably from before he left for Detroit. Viktor finds a suitable place in the living room for the photo frame. He shifts through many more photos of Yuuri and his family, Yuuri and his mom, Yuuri and his dad, Yuuri and Mari as kids; all of which he places with care around the apartment. He stops at a photo of Yuuri, no more than ten with his arms thrown around a small poodle. Viktor gazes at the photo for several heartbeats and then sets it on the bookshelf. He wonders how Makkachin would feel if he were to get a friend, wonders if Yuuri would even want another dog, he resolves to bring the subject up at some point. The next picture Viktor sees makes his heart feel like it is bursting out of his chest, he can feel his cheeks heating up, he pulls the picture from the box. It is a small frame holding a very innocent picture of the two of them. Yuuri is smiling at the camera but Viktor, in the picture, seems not to have noticed and it gazing at Yuuri with a enamoured smile and his arms around his waist. Viktor is in love with the photo in an instant and understands why Yuuri decided to bring it across from Japan. Viktor scrambles up from the living room floor and runs into his - their - bedroom and places it on one of the bedside tables. Viktor meanders back into the living room, proud of his handiwork, his apartment already feels warmer as he gazes around at the small touches of Yuuri that now litter his apartment.

Viktor cuts open the last box and is met with a silver medal as he peers in. He beams proudly at the sight of it. Maybe he’ll invest in a trophy case at some point to show off Yuuri’s achievements, for now, he decides, the silver medal will rest on the bookshelf, where everyone can see it. Underneath the medal, there are a pair of skates. Those he places with his own, in the closet. Next he finds the first of many of Yuuri’s old skating costumes. He lifts out the costumes and resolves to go through them at a later date, maybe Yuuri would try them on for him if he asked nicely. Viktor’s fingers scraped the bottom of the box and caught on some pieces of paper. Viktor pulls the mysterious paper out and lets them fall out of their fold. He finds himself staring at several pictures of himself. Yuuri has done many cute things that Viktor has been witness to, but he thinks this moment comes close to the top. Viktor leaps up and frantically searches for the sharpie he knows he has lying around somewhere. Viktor skids back to the small pile of posters and uncaps the pen. With the lid gripped between his teeth, he pauses trying to decide what to say.

The first poster is from the 2009 Grand Prix final, right after he had cut his hair. The poster was slightly crumpled from having been taken down and put back up multiple times. Viktor held the pen to the paper began writing.

“Dear Yuuri,

I don’t know when you’ll read this, but I love you a lot and I can’t wait for you to move in with me!!!

forever yours,

Viktor Nikiforov”

He writes the message in shaky English but signs his name in his native alphabet. He glares down at his bad handwriting, it’s been years since he has had to handwrite anything in English and decides to write the rest of his messages in Russian. He throws in a doodle of Makkachin and a couple of love hearts as well to reiterate his love. He signs the next few posters quickly and doodles on them as well before placing the poster back at the bottom of the box and putting the skating costumes back on top. He closes the box over and places it at the back of his closet beside his box of medals and trophies. He resolves to not tell Yuuri he found those posters and let him be surprised when he eventually opens that box.

Viktor stuffs the boxes into his recycling bin and collapses on the couch. Makkachin, seeming to sense Viktor’s want, bounds over and leaps onto Viktor. Viktor clutches Makkachin tightly. He lays still for a few minutes, before he pushes Makkachin away and roles off. “You ready to go get Yuuri Makkachin? You wanna come with? Of course you do! Let’s go!” Viktor throws his coat on and wraps a scarf around his neck before bending down and attaching Makkachin’s leash. Viktor babbles to Makkachin about nothing and everything as he makes his way to the apartment block’s car park. He unlocks his car and gets Makkachin settled in the back. He positions himself behind the wheel. His whole body feels alight with electricity, he makes a conscious effort to slow his breathing down, and gives up after two minutes. He’s allowed to be excited he reasons, as he throws his car into reverse, he will be seeing Yuuri in less than an hour.

**Author's Note:**

> My yuri on ice blog is viktor-nikiiforov.tumblr.com so if you want to talk to me about yoi stuff you can find me there.
> 
> I'm hoping to get the next chapter published sometime next week.
> 
> The song Viktor is using for his free program is No One Else from Natasha, Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!


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